Nowhere Kids
by Hopscotch and Link
Summary: Welcome to Fckup Central, home to the messed up kids of society. They belong nowhere, and they want the world to know it. Rated for slash, language, and violence


**Disclaimer: **Newsies, copyright of Disney. Damn

_in the land of dirt and plaster  
lies an army of a thousand nowhere kids  
losing ground and falling faster  
into a life that no one should have to live _

_no one gives a shit ... as long as we smile_

_- Nowhere Kids, Smile Empty Soul _

**_Welcome to Paradise Cove_**

Race woke up wondering who was ripping his hair out by the roots, strand by strand. He reached a clumsy hand up, smacking himself in the process. His hair was in tact, but his skull still throbbed painfully beneath his fingers. Reluctantly, Race opened his eyes. He wracked his brain, thinking of all the events that had occurred the night before to cause such pain. He had no recollection of a party, no memories of large quantities of alcohol consumption. But then again, his thoughts of the previous night were fuzzy, so he couldn't be sure. Either way, his headache worsened with the intense thinking.

He opened his eyes. To his surprise, his eyes were already open. He had forgotten opening them earlier. He blinked several times, but his eyes relayed nothing of his surroundings. Scanning what he hoped was a room, he saw slits of orange lights coming through drawn blinds. He sighed reflexively, glad to orient himself with some landmark. The window looked smaller than he last remembered seeing it, but with the room shadowed in darkness, he thought that the proportions just seemed off.

He sat up.

His wrist exploded in pain. Biting his tongue, he brought it up to his face for examination. He couldn't see it. Squinting, he brought the wrist up further. He hit himself in the nose, jarring his wrist and bringing tears to his eyes from the impact. He blinked back the tears and lowered his wrist carefully. Then he mentally checked the rest of his body.

No signs of a hangover. His head throbbed to a silent beat, but wooziness or nausea didn't accompany his headache. Bruises covered his back, and he felt clots of blood on his arms. His legs were sore. He wondered if he had gotten into a fight. His mouth was dry, and he could smell his own morning breath. But he couldn't feel any pools of bile on his pillow. Race stared at the pillow. Or rather, stared into the darkness at what felt like a pillow. Sight was useless, so he clutched it with his good hand. He _never_ slept with a pillow. It gave him neck cramps. As if on cue, his neck tensed. Race brought his chin down to his neck, pulling tight muscles, then tilted his head back. He growled inwardly. He must've been incredibly drunk. This was not his house. He pushed his hand around the bed, searching for another body.

As he did so, he tried to remember what had happened. He always made sure to take the girl to his house, because girls had an annoying habit of telling her older brother about him. And it wasn't that Race couldn't hold his own during a fight. But waking up to a leering, male face hovering over him never gave him an advantage. Which could easily be avoided.

There was no one in the bed besides him. Race cursed, sliding out of bed to search for his clothes.

It didn't take him long to find them. All his clothes were still on his body. Race wondered what kind of girl he'd hooked up with.

Stumbling to the door, he tried to remember the way out. No memory surfaced. He shrugged to himself. Not wanting to prolong his stay, he turned the handle and pushed on the door.

Nothing happened. In a moment's panic, Race thought the strange girl had locked the door, forcing him to wait for the imminent return of her brother. He shook the door frantically. It flew open as he pulled, smacking himself once again in the face. Race released the door and cursed loudly. Sounds of running feet echoed outside. Race cursed again. Slowly, he edged around the door.

Race blinked in the bright light. After a moment, his sight returned. He smiled at the sight, until his brain registered what he was seeing. His face fell.

Five boys stood in front of him, looking expectantly in his direction. Race glanced over his shoulder, wistfully looking into the dark interior of the room behind him. What kind of perverse girl would take him to a house where _five_ brothers resided?

One boy cleared his throat and stepped forward. Race raised his fists, dropping into a defensive stance.

"I don't know who your sister is. I'm sure she's a wonderful, sweet girl, and you're totally misinterpreting the situation. Whatever happened last night was unintentional and we can just forget it. In fact, I already forgot what happened. But that doesn't mean that your sister means nothing to me. She's amazing. But not like that. She's amazing, as a person. If she'll just explain to you, then I'll go, and you'll never see me again. Unless you want me to continue our relationship, and I'd be more than happy to, but I'd like you to know that I'd never take advantage of her in –"

The boy who'd stepped up coughed politely. Race trailed off. The boy raised his eyebrows and smiled in a bemused way. He straightened the bandanna around his neck and rested his hand on his hip. He looked at the other boys assembled behind him, smirking. Then, turning to Race, he spoke.

"Last time I checked, none of us had a sister. I don't recall the last time a girl came in here, and I _know_ that she wouldn't be sleeping with you."

"Why not? Because there's no way she would consider you."

The smirk widened. "What a shame." One boy snorted, covering it with a cough.

Race narrowed his eyes. He caught the sarcasm, but he wasn't sure where the sarcasm was directed. Then he realized that he didn't like this boy. He couldn't place why, but the feeling was there. "I don't have time for you."

"Good," the boy said. He mimicked pulling out a pocketbook. He turned a few imaginary pages. "I don't have a single empty spot open."

"Jack," a boy with an eye patch chided. "Spot would never be open for you. It's like a fact of life."

Jack frowned, his eyes darkening. Race looked at them, confused.

"Wha –"

"Blink, shut up." He turned his gaze to Race. "And you, you go to hell."

"Me? What did I do?"

Blink burst out laughing. "Oh Jack, you scared the little thing." He wrapped an arm around the waist of a very muscular boy next to him. They looked at each other, smiling. Then Blink tilted his head and kissed the boy firmly on the mouth. Race turned his head in disgust.

"Squeamish?" a tall guy asked from next to him. Race blinked in surprise, not seeing the boy come over. He smiled warily. The boy smiled back. "Excuse the disgustingly romantic couple. You get used to it after a while. You look like shit. I'm Skittery." He stuck out a hand. Race nodded solemnly, not taking Skittery's hand. Skittery shrugged and lowered it. He leaned against the wall nonchalantly.

"You know you've been here for a while when that becomes a source of entertainment. But you shouldn't have to worry about that, right?"

"Pardon me?"

Skittery raised an eyebrow. "Proper young man, aren't we?" he mocked. "I'm just saying that you don't have to worry about getting used to them."

"Why not?"

He sighed, sounding very much like a long-suffering parent. "You're just like the rest of them who come through here. You stay until some rich stuffy relative comes and claims you."

"You make me sound like a piece of luggage."

"What makes you think you're any better than that? At least you'll learn that lesson fast: you aren't worth shit to anyone except yourself. Remember that, or you'll be painfully reminded."

"Where am I?"

"Welcome to Fuck-up Central, primary holding zone for various levels of fuck-ups." A particularly loud sound drew Race's attention to the kissing couple. He made a face.

Race bit his lip. "Are you all –"

"Gay?" Race wrenched his eyes from the couple and nodded. Skittery smirked, shaking his head. "Depends on what you consider gay. And who you consider 'all.' Obviously, Blink and Mush are. Jack is one spark short of flaming. Snitch, on the other hand – it all depends on what day it is. With me –"

"Wait, what?"

"Snitch? You'd have to meet him to understand. I'll introduce you to him, I think you'd get along."

"And what's that supposed to mean? That I may be gay on certain days?"

Skittery shook his head and pushed off the wall. He walked over to Jack, putting a hand on Jack's arm. Jack gave no sign of feeling Skittery's touch, so he shook Jack. Harder than was necessary. And looked like he enjoyed it. Race made a mental note not to make Skittery angry.

Jack snapped an annoyed "What?" and went back to watching Blink and Mush make out. Skittery whispered in Jack's ear for a second, then cocked his head to look at Race. It gave a very eerie effect. Race grimaced, hoping it would pass as a smile. Skittery beckoned for Race to come, then started down the hall. Jack tapped Blink on the shoulder. Blink pulled away.

"I'm getting horny," Jack complained. "Do this in the commons, where there's at least room for me to –"

"Thank you, Jack," Blink said loudly. He gently tugged Mush towards the door. Jack followed, grinning. Race hesitated.

"Weren't there five of you?"

Skittery turned back, a confused look on his face. Then he paled. "Oh shit," he whispered. "Snitch! Where the _hell_ are you?" A crash answered his call.

Skittery rushed headlong at Race, who put his hands up in defense. Skittery pushed him aside and ran into the room. Race spun around. Several things crashed into the wall, followed by a piercing scream. The others hurried back, circling Race.

"Snitch?" they asked. Race didn't respond, not sure what was happening. No one moved until the sounds of resistance subsided, replaced by a soothing voice. Jack placed his hand on the door.

"Skittery?"

"Little kid," Skittery responded. Jack nodded gravely, then deferred to Mush. Mush inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising. He exhaled, closing his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, his features softened. He smiled gently to no one in particular.

"Snitch? Baby, you okay? Come out here to Mush." The door cracked open. A shorter boy poked his head around the door and looked up at Mush. Recognition and relief flooded his eyes. He ran into Mush's outstretched arms and began to sob.

"Snitch, honey, what's wrong?"

Mush rocked him from side to side, humming. Gradually, the tears stopped flowing and the boy looked up with wide eyes.

"He wouldn't let me. Daddy wouldn't let me swing. He took me to the park, but wouldn't let me swing. He made me sit on the bench. And I couldn't say anything. He wouldn't let me say anything. I asked him if I could swing. I did. He didn't hear me, because he was reading his book. He was always reading his book. So I touched him. Just his coat. I just wanted him to notice me. I just wanted to swing. But he didn't want me to touch him. So he hit me. One, two, three." He flinched with each number he said, reliving the moment. Mush bent down and picked Snitch up effortlessly. He walked into another room, consoling the quivering boy. The others followed silently.

"That," Skittery said quietly as he passed Race, "is Snitch."

Race waited for the group to disappear before he followed. He mulled over his situation. He still had no idea where he was, and nothing was making sense. No one came back to get him, so he sighed and walked after the others.

When he reached the door, he peered in, not knowing what to expect. A large, brightly-lit room met his eyes. He stared as the boys huddled around a large armchair containing a shivering Snitch. He walked in quietly, as not to disturb them. Sinking in a chair along the wall, he watched them. Mush hovered worriedly over Snitch, who didn't pay attention to any of them, staring at an invisible target. Blink placed his arm around Mush, who rested his head on Blink's shoulder. Jack and Skittery conversed in low voices. A noise at the door made all of them jerk their heads up. Blink dropped his hand and Mush straightened up. Even Snitch focused a little more.

Standing in the doorway was the most perfect boy Race had ever seen. A boy no taller than himself leaned against the frame, picking idly at a loose thread on his boxers. Race blinked, not trusting his eyes. The boy was clad in black boxers and gloves. And nothing else. Race stared at the slightly toned muscles and the golden hair that hung in his eyes, shadowing his face.

Once all eyes were focused on him, he crossed the room to Snitch. Mush giggled.

"Why the gloves, Spot?"

Spot turned his head and managed to look down on Mush. "I'm _cold_," he said plainly. Mush raised an eyebrow and obviously ran his eyes up and down Spot's practically naked body. Spot ripped off a glove with his teeth and flipped Mush off. Snitch covered his mouth with his hands and snickered. Spot snapped his head toward Snitch. The glove jerked around between Spot's clenched teeth.

"Whash sho funny ashhole?" Spot asked through the glove. Snitch burst out laughing. He pointed at the glove, clutching his side as he laughed.

"The – the glove. It's so funny!" Spot narrowed his eyes. He spit out the glove.

"Bastard. First you wake me up before lunch… I've killed for less. But your little groupies," he gestured to the guys around him, "are going to protect you. Little fucktards like you aren't worth that much effort."

"Spot," Skittery said, "he's starting his cycle again and –"

"What is he, a freaking girl on her period? I don't know why you put up with him. He has as many memories as I do." Jack put a restraining hand on Spot's shoulder. He shook it off. "And fuck off," he said in Jack's general direction.

Snitch reached down and grabbed Spot's glove. Wiping the saliva off, he made a face. Then he lifted it meekly and offered it to Spot. Spot snatched it away.

"Fuck off," Snitch said innocently, mimicking Spot.

Mush snickered, followed by Blink and Jack. Spot looked at the ceiling in frustration. He whirled around and stalked off. Marching straight toward Race, he glared.

"Get out of my chair."

Race glanced around at the other empty, more comfortable chairs around the room. "Excuse me?"

"New here?" It wasn't a question. "Let's get things straight. Don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you. And if you want me to fuck you," he shot a dirty glance at Jack, "then I'll beat the shit out of you. And not getting out of my chair is fucking with me."

"You can have any chair here. Why this one?" Race asked.

Spot furrowed his eyebrows. "Why not this one?" He lowered his voice. "Get this through your head, asshole. I don't give a shit about you. So don't act like you care about me." Race shot a glance at Skittery, who raised his eyebrows. _I told you so._

"You must give a shit about me, because you're spending extra energy on me when you could have any chair in the room. In fact, if you didn't care, you never would've left your room."

"Smartass. Shut your mouth and MOVE!" He grabbed Race's shirt and threw him out of the chair. Race sprawled on the ground, wincing as his wrist hit the ground. "Do you know what your rank is here, shitface?" Spot growled. "It's me, them, shit, Snitch, everything else, and you."

Race glared at Spot, who matched the glare. Race looked away. He stood and walked away, fixing his shirt.

"Yeah, that's right, bitch. Run away."

Another door opened. The room went silent, like it did when Spot had entered. Race ignored it, only vaguely wondering what other asshole had wandered into the room. He heard heavy shoes pound across the room towards him. He spun around. A heavy-set man wobbled to a stop. He placed a hand on his balding head and looked apologetically at Race. The others stared, not making a sound. The man cleared his throat.

"Ah, pleasure to see you're awake. I'm, er, sorry that you have to stay in these – humble dwellings during your transition, but I can only hope your stay will be, erm, acceptable. Now, it will take time for your relatives to fill out all the proper forms, but that cannot be avoided. I'm terribly sorry about your, um, loss, but it couldn't have been avoided either."

"Pardon me, Mister –"

The man realized that Race was waiting for him to say something. "Oh. Just call me Mister. All the other boys do."

"Well, Mister. I'm not sure I completely understand what's happened. I don't know why I'm here. I think this has all been a mistake –"

"Son," Mister put a beefy arm around Race. Race tried to wiggle out, but Mister's hand clenched tightly over his shoulder. "Your parents have died in a terrible car accident." He bowed his head and actually dabbed his eyes with a large finger. "Your mother, uh, saved you from death."

"What?"

"I have no idea. It seems I was thinking of another. Ah yes, you were the only survivor of the crash because you were, um, thrown from the car as it crashed. The car exploded on, uh, impact. You're lucky we found you. Otherwise, off to foster home with you."

"Where am I?" Race asked warily.

Mister released Race and stepped back, a shocked expression on his face. "Where are my manners? Welcome to Paradise, er, Cove. Home for Orphans. Of course, you are a special, um, case. You won't be staying very long." Skittery's words came back to Race. _You're just like the rest of them who come through here. You stay until some stuffy relative comes and claims you._ Some special case he was.

Feeling more cheerful, Mister left. He paused at the door, looking back at Race. "Son, enjoy your, uh, stay. Lunch will be served in halfan hour." He saw Spot and frowned. "And Mr. Conlon, please put on some, uh, clothes."

As the door closed, Race felt the tension around him ease. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat during Mister's speech. Blinking potential tears back, he searched for Skittery. He was right next to him. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Skittery asked.

"Nevermind. Does Mister always sound like –"

"Like he's making up the story as he goes?" Skittery finished. Race nodded. "Yep. But we haven't found a lie in him yet. All the stories have been confirmed by reliable sources." He saluted, sounding like a soldier. Race had to smile.

A low growling came from Race's left. Spot stalked by, running into Race and throwing him off balance. Race looked at him in disbelief, but Spot never acknowledged his presence.

"Consider yourself lucky. Snitch was in a car crash and look at him now. His relatives refuse to come and pick him up."

"Is that why you're all still here? Because you don't have family willing to come and get you?"

"If only it were that simple," Skittery muttered. Race opened his mouth to pursue the topic, but Skittery turned his head away.

"What's wrong with Snitch?" Race asked, trying to change the topic.

Skittery jerked his head up in alarm, looking at Snitch. He calmed down when he realized what Race was talking about. "Snitch lost his long term memory in the crash. No one knows how to fix it. So he's like this for life."

"How does he remember you?"

"He still has a long term memory." Skittery saw Race's confused look. "It's like his mind was erased in the crash. We don't know anything about his life. His name is Carlos Reed, according to his relatives. We called him Snitch because he took anything he could find when he got here. The name stuck. And that's about it. He goes through these cycles where he sticks to a story about his past. We aren't sure if any of it is true, but during those periods, we try to encourage the story, in case he remembers something else. Everything that's happened in Fuck-up Central, he remembers. But nothing before that. But we get used to it." Skittery smiled, trying to seem unaffected.

"It must be hard," Race said.

"It's as hard as we make it. We survive, and try to have fun doing it. Remember? We're fuck-ups. Life gets a little more interesting."

Race knew that Skittery was trying to cheer him up, but he didn't want it. Still, he smiled, however forced. "Thanks, Skittery."

"For what?" Though he was well aware what it was for. "I don't think I know your name."

Race hesitated. "Racetrack. Call me Race," he said.

"Well, Race." He stuck out a hand. "Welcome to Fuck-up Central."

Race took Skittery's hand and shook it. "I feel right at home."

* * *

**Hopscotch**: So yes, we have a new story... _finally._

_Link:_ And after much arguing and recooperation from our neverending fights, we have posted a chapter successfully.

(awkward pause)

H: It's really quiet.

L: I didn't do it.

H: (rolls eyes) Who'd you kill and what was it for?

L: He provoked me.

H: Who was it?

L: The disclaimerbot.

H: Oh my god! What did you do to him?

L: Closet.

H: (rushes out)

L: ...

H: (pops head back into room) On second thought... it's kinda nice.

(Coming from closet) HELP! LEMME OUTTA HERE! BASTARDS! BOTH OF YOU!

_This chapter was completed with the aid of Red Bull and spiked popcorn._


End file.
